


Necessary But Not Sufficient

by JoyAndOtherStories



Series: GO Ficlets [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ficlet, First Kiss, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, One Shot, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-25 02:02:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22008157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoyAndOtherStories/pseuds/JoyAndOtherStories
Summary: Tumblr prompt submitted by @apocryphalia: When words aren't enoughFor once, all the human words in the world aren't enough for Aziraphale.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: GO Ficlets [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1589335
Comments: 19
Kudos: 150





	Necessary But Not Sufficient

(Thanks to [apocryphalia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/apocryphalia) for the prompt!)

“Crowley, I—”

Words had failed Aziraphale.

Ordinarily, that wasn’t something that had any business happening.

But he’d collected, hoarded words practically since words had existed, and he knew better than anyone that there simply _weren’t_ words for this.

How could one convey to one’s best, only friend of six millennia the extent of…of feeling, of care, that he held—how could one explain to the only solid point in one’s life the extent of that solidity?

Even “I love you” didn’t seem close to sufficient. “Love” was a word even Gabriel could use: Duty-bound care for the humans he’d been willing to destroy, lip service for the God he’d been willing to ignore.

Crowley merited better words.

It would require at least a novel. Perhaps an epic poem, or a play longer than one of William’s longer histories, or an entire operatic cycle.

And while Aziraphale wouldn’t have objected to composing something of that nature if necessary, he doubted he had the skill, and he certainly couldn’t have done it quickly.

And, frankly, he was done waiting, done delaying, done moving slowly. Crowley deserved to know this _now_ , not later, not the next time they saw each other, not the next century when Aziraphale finally found a way to express himself.

It didn’t even matter if Crowley felt the same for him—well, it did; it mattered more than anything, but it didn’t change what Aziraphale had to impart.

“What’s up, angel?”

If only he could find a way to do it.

“I—”

Crowley unfolded himself from the couch, stood and stretched. “No problem,” he said mildly. “I can head on out. Don’t want to crowd you.”

He stepped toward the door, but for once, Aziraphale was faster—because words or no words, the idea that Crowley’s presence might _crowd_ him was simply unacceptable—

“ _Crowley_ ,” was the only word he could produce, as he wrapped his arms around his—his—whatever the word was for what Crowley was, more loved than love, more dear than dear—

“Ngk,” said Crowley.

“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed, “Quite.” He pulled away enough to meet Crowley’s eyes, which held that unbearably tender and vulnerable look that, Aziraphale realized, spoke more truly than either of them had ever been able to put into human words.

“May I kiss you, my dear?” Words that were not sufficient, but necessary at that moment.

“Oh good Lord,” said Crowley, and their lips were together. Aziraphale lost track of how long their kiss lasted, aware only of all the meaning he tried to pour out through their contact, until Crowley made a weak noise in his throat and buried his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“I have a great deal to tell you,” Aziraphale murmured into Crowley’s ear, holding him steady with arms built for guarding gates and wielding swords. “Would you mind staying a while longer while I find the right words?”

“Sure, angel,” said Crowley hoarsely, his hands stretched to their full length across Aziraphale’s back, as if trying to span as much of him as possible. “How long d’you think you need?”

“Oh, I should think at least a century.”


End file.
